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OTHER POEMS 



B}, SARA R. SCHLESINGER 






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CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Riders of the Plain : A Tale of the Pike's Peak Region. 5 

The Bitter and Sweet Waters of Manitou 11 

The Eagle's Wing— A' Zuni Folk Tale 16 

Lyrics. 

Where, Oh, Where Am 'T'? 27 

Put Forth Thy Strength and Grow 28 

Far and Near 28 

Mid-Summer 29 

A Wood Charm 29 

My Wilderness 30 

A Siren by the Sea 31 

The River 32 

Romance 33 

The Willows 34 

Divine Justice — A Prayer 35 

Music and Memory 35 

The Little Wild Bird 36 



RIDERS OF THE PLAIN. 



Part I. 



" I will leave here my bride, young Zecana, 
"While I hunt for the sheep you desire, 

"Let no evil reach out for her garment 
"If you fear Taingaro's swift ire." 

" Put your hand in the white man's, Zecana, 
"He has sworn you are safe in his keeping; 

"Trust this friend of the tribe and obey him — 
"Now, why is my little one weeping?" 

"She is timid and young, my Zecana, 

"To preserve her bright youth is my care; 

" And I bid her still form of her tresses 

"Two whorls like our young maidens wear. 

" In our village at home, my Zecana 

" Is free as the maidens unwed, 
"And oft she stops in the grinding 

"Or baking of 'piki' (our bread),'' 

'■'And rushes aloft to the housetop, 
"Where she gazes for hours, away 

"To the orchards and cornfields below her, 
"To the desert in painted array." 

" Tis to give her new joy I have brought her 

"To this garden of Manitou, 
"Held sacred for heaUng water 

"And for rocks of a scarlet hue." 



"All day long should her laugh or her song 

" In this fountain vale be heard, 
''And sorrow will fall on your camp 

'*If you silence my sweet singingbird." 

"Now I leave you, dear child, dear Zecana, 

"Taingaro will torture and kill, 
" If he hears not your laugh, but your sobbing, 

"As he rides from the hunt o'er the hill." 

Then vaulting into his saddle 

He places a hand on her hair, 
And impresses his soul with the vision 

Of her youth and her beauty so rare. 

Ahl oft in his dreams he will see her 
In black tribal robe, drawn tight 

And looped up by the gay striped girdle, 
'Till it shows two high leggings of white. 

His heart is a-grief with his longing 
As he rides up the steep mountain road. 

And yet would he turn from his going 
If he knew what that heartache forbode. 

Part II. 

Now evening descends on the mountains, 
The foothills are rosy with light 

Where the sun with its tender caresses 
Kissed their snowy cheeks, "good-night." 

Towards the camp Taingaro is urging 

With cheerful word and song 
His horse, sorely taxed by the burden 

It wearily drags along. 



They pause by a spring in the valley, 
The chief entones his prayer, 

Casting beads into the fountain, 
Which he begs the Gods to share. 

The waters cease their spraying, 
Confined in their rim of rock. 

And, into this mirror gazing, 

Taingaro perceives with a shock — 

A vision dark and foreboding 
Beside his own in the pool ; 

He rises in horror and misery, 
Cursing himself for a fool. 

"The face of my bride, of Zecana, 

"So full of terror and w^oe, 
" Why do the Gods, for my anguish, 

"This dreadful vision show?" 

He iiears a sob. Beside him 
Crouches Zecana, the child 

Of his love, his longing and shielding, 
Now a creature distraught and wild. 

Entwining her arms about him 
She steals his hunting knife; 

Then, smiling her love and devotion, 
She ends her ended life. 

No tears relieve his heartache. 
But o'er the chief's face is spread 

A look of hatred and cunning. 
As he ponders beside his dead. 

7 



Part III. 

'' We can bear strokes of fate that descend 
"With swift vengence upon our head, 

''But the blow that hangs suspended 
"Is the blow we fear and dread." 

So the traitor reflects, and he begs, — 
" I beseech thee, Taingaro, 
"Decide my fate, at once, 

"With thy quick and unerring arrow." 

The savage vouchsafes no answer. 

He proceeds with his dead's preparation; 

But malevolent glances give warning 
He will claim some dire reparation. 

And now in its shroud of sheepskin 
The Indian sheathes his dead; 

Then he binds the corpse to a mustang 
Almost mad with its fear and dread. 

"Arise! thou betrayer of woman," 
The enraged chief commands, 
"Or thy body will tremble with torture 
"Evoked by these strong, cruel hands." 

Ah! the long and the bitter struggle 
Ere the prisoner is placed beside 

The corpse, on the back of the pinto 
He must share on this gruesome ride. 

From his own sure seat on his pony, 
Taingaro cuts with quick slashes 

The lasso that holds the mad mustang. 
Away, like the wind it dashes ! 



And its burden of living and dead 
Journey with it to that white waste land, 

Where bleaching bones proclaim 
Death lurks in the alkaline sand. 

The moon, with its fixed, sad stare, 

Rides with them for company. 
Persisting in her kind task 

Till she fades in the light of new day. 

Soon the golden sun arises; 

Fhngs her covering far and wide, 
Drops her purple robe to the earth, 
Leaves her pink, fleecy veil on the mountain side. 

But the hunted horse and his rider 

Are blind to the world about ; 
They are only alert to the cluttering 

Hoofs and the Indian's shout. 

All day long o'er the plain they are driven 
Without drink, without nourishment 

Till the pinto sinks to the ground, 
Its strength and its energy spent. 

And its rider, who sat through the ride 

Aloof from the thing on its back. 
Now tears and bites at the corpse, 

A jabbering, ravenous maniac. 

Having wrought the revenge he had planned, 

Taingaro his way retraces, 
And morning finds him at rest 

In a green and fertile oasis. 



But no rest ever comes to the pair : — 
Betrayer and betrayed. This domain 

Forever they scour on their spectre 
Steed, — Restless riders of the plain. 



Riders of the Plain is found in Mr. Charles M. 
Skinner's "Myths and Legends of Our Own Land." 

Ta-in-ga-ro (First Falling Thunder.) 

Zeeana (The Bird.) 

The dress of the Hopi woman consists of a piece of 
black cloth with borders of blue and green. A striped 
girdle of blue and green and white buckskin moccasins 
the upper of which ends in a long, broad band which 
she winds about her leg to the knee. The unmarried 
women wear their hair in whorls. 



THE SWEET AND BITTER WATERS 
OF MANITOU. 

A Legend. 

In the hollow of the mountains, 

Like a child upon the breast, 
Manitou, the vale of fountains, 

Leans in smiling, peaceful rest . 

Just above it, tall, majestic, 

Veril}^ a savage queen, 
Looms a mountain, garbed, fantastic, 

In a robe of red and green. 

Long ago an Indian rally 

Yearly to this mountain came, 
And within this sacred valley 

Eeld a council and a game. 

While the great chief, good Waukauga, 
Ruled the whole Shoshonean race, 

Naught occurred to make them rue the 
Yearly gathering at this place. 

At liis death, came sore dissension, 
With its quarrels and fatal wars ; 

Though the Shoshone kept ascension. 
Conflict left its ugly scars. 

Ceased the games and talks together 
Yearly in the mountain's shade. 

For Comanche's paint and feather 
Warned of warfare and of raid. 



Heeded not, Wacomish's pony 

Saunters through the mountain pass ; 

Picks its way where rough and stony, 
Or unchided, crops the gras:?. 

Other roads the rider travels, 

Following his thoughts long train; 

Wars of conquest he unravels 
In his active, scheming brain. 

Evil eyes beneath his headgear 
Smile in scorn or glare with hate ; 

Victims of his rage have said, fear 
Only can his vengeance sate. 

Now in plumes of war he wanders, 

Stripped for fight his bare, bronze flesh; 

Evil deeds he surely ponders 

When his war paint gleams so fresh ! 

On a rock Wacomish pauses, — 

There, upon a narrow ledge, 
Softer mood the beauty causes, 

As the chief leans o'er the edge. 

Gray, green pines slope down below him, 
And their mystic purple shade, 

Frames the plains his quick eyes show him 
Through an open forest glade. 

Daunted not by heavy trappings, 
Down the mountain path they glide. 

Undergrowth nor branches' lappings 
Turn Wacomish's steed aside, 

12 



Oh 1 the valley's fragrant greeting ; 

Oh! the rose and columbine, 
And the cherry blooms, which the fleeting 

Creek in pungent white, outhne ! 

[Wacomish to Ausaqua.] 
"Who is that beside the spring where 

"I, Wacomish, love to drink? 
" He defies me who dares fling there 

"Carrion upon the brink." 

"Ah! the gods alone ordain this 

"Death, — of him, my enemy! 
" 'Tis Ausaqua's vile, profane kiss 

"Fouls this sacred fount for me." 

"Long this Shoshone rules the Council 

**'In his vacillating way; 
"Should a foe the nation trouncle, — 

"What the import of his sway?" 

" Only defeat and the sure disruption 
"Or our race. While, by my plan, 

" Saved the nation from destruction, 
"Death, dishonor, — for one man!" 

'Dare you, Shoshone, seek the spring head, 
"While Comanche drinks the waste? 

''And your bleeding game to fling, dead, 
"Where Wacomish stoops to taste?" 

[Ausaqua to Wacomish.] 
"Brother, cease thy perturbations, 

"This sweet spring the Gods provide 
"For all men alike. My libations, 

"Ere I drank, I poured aside." 



"Drink, here, at the clear head water, 
"Where it bubbles clean and pure; 

"Pledge no more thy kin to slaughter, — 
"Make a truce that will endure." 

Maddened by his fierce desires, 
Towards his foe Wacomish steals, 

Like a drowning rat, expires 
Poor Ausaqua, as he kneels. 

See, a misty form n rises 

From the pool. An ancient chief 
The guilty Wacomish now surprises 

Into quaking fear nnd grief. 

[Waukauga to Wacomish.] 
"I, Waukauga, come to wreak my 

"Vengence on thee for thy sin; 
" Tis in justice only seek I 

"Thy mean life for his, thy kin." 

From Waukauga 's elkhorn flashes 
Death upon the cringing man; 

And the fountain's water dashes 
O'er him at the ghost-chief's ban. 

[Waukauga.] 
" May these waters, as they bubble 

" O'er thee through the countless years 
"Taste, in token of this trouble, 

"Bitter, with thy blood and tears." 

"From this fissure now I conjure 
" Healing waters. May they be 

"Beautiful to look upon, — pure 
"In Ausaqua's memory." 
u 



''Lives of slayer and slain are ended, 

"But each liveth in his line; 
"With Ausaqua's blood is blended 

"Good, — treachery, with thine!" 

" Naught is lost that once was hving ; 

"Wlien we give a deed its birth, 
" Tis our children w^e are giving, 

"As a hostage to the earth." 

"This deed marks the tribe's division, 

"Our descendants pay the cost; 
"Manitou has made decision, 

"And the Indian's cause is lost!" 

"All such conflicts passed, retrieving, 
" Soon will drive us from the land ; 

"Lo! the Indian is leaving, — 

"Comes the white man to command." 

" Ah\ ye brothers, vale and fountain 
"bpeak unto the white man's heart; 

"And ye, reverend Mother Mountain, 
"Plead with him, the Indian's part." 

When he drinks here for his healing, 

At Ausagua's Mountain Springs, 
Bid him share an Indian's feeling. 

When some bard this legend sings. 

This legend is found, under the title, "The Division 
of the Tribes," in "Myths and Legends of Our Own 
Land," by Charles M. Skinner. 

The Shoshonean family consists of the Chemehuevi, 
Comanche, Moki or Hopi, Pai Ute, and Ute tribes. 

15 



THE EAGLE'S WING, 



Part I. — Scene 1 . 

Fierce is the red sun's glare 
On plain and mountains bare, 
On street and lodges where {Note 1) 
Liveth the Zuni. 

Dusty the way doth lie, 
Under the burning sky; 
Baked is the creek bed, dry, 
From the hot sunshine. 

Mid jars and stores of grain, 
Captive and almost slain, 
Since dawn a bird has lain, 
High, on a housetop. 

Mitsina's oldest son, 
Whose guile the eagle won, 
Leaves it to suffer, — strung 
Thus on the housetop. 

Here, Waihusivar, 
Young son of Mitsinar, 
Finds the poor bird, not far 
From its last death throe. 

Cuts loose its fetters tight, 
Saying, "Now take thy flight, 
"Freed from thy sorry plight, 
"Poor winged creature." 

16 



"No! I will bide a space 
"In this, thy dwelling place, 
" By leave and with the grace (Note 2.) 
"Of our King Eagle." 

" Make me a cage of reeds, 
"Tend to my daily needs, 
" Bind up this wound that bleeds — 
"I will remember." 

Part II. — Scene 1st. 

Young Waihusivar, 
Guarding for Mitsinar 
Corn in the fields, — makes war 
On bird marauders. 

Sick, from the stifling heat, 
Weary, with dragging feet, 
'Husivar seeks retreat {Note 3.) 
Under a shelter. 

Falls in a heavy doze; 
Then, as his eyes unclose, 
They to his sight expose 
Vision, enchanting. 

Near him there stands a maid,, 
In eagle plumes arrayed; 
Timid, she is afraid 
Of his warm glances. 

"Who art thou, maiden, fair? 
"Speak, and thy wish declare, 
"And by my life I swear 
"Surel}^ to grant it!" 



"I am the 'Eagle Maid/ 
"In plumes I masquerade; {Note 4.) 
''See, here, my head dress laid, — 
''Would you have known me?" 

"Hid thus I came to earth. 
"Gained food for thought and mirth; 
"Thus, have I proved thy worth, 
"Friend of the friendless." 

" For thou has shown to me 
"That which is good to see, — 
"Charity, sympathy, — 
"Rare, among mortals." 

"You do not hunt or kill, 
" In sports you show no skill; 
"You have no heart or will 
"To make beasts suffer." 

"Thus Uve the Gods in peace; 
"With them all strife doth cease, 
"Round them the herds increase, 
"One with them, brothers." 

"Come to Kiakime; 
"Mortals are never free {Note. 5.) 
"From care. As Gods live we; 
"Come! to my home land." 

"If, as your husband there, 
"Your life I'll come to share; 
"Much will I do and dare, 
"Dearly beloved." 

18 



Thus answered he, the youth, 
And with a kiss, forsooth! 
'Must needs he phght his troth 
'To the bird maiden." 

Hark! to the crows loud "kaws," 
Filling their hungry maws; 
None here to bide them pause. 
Gone, is the young man. 

Part IT. — Scene 2nd. 

Strong wings alone can fly 
To the wild eyry high, 
Seeming to touch the sky, — 
Home of the eagles. 

This is called 'Thunder Peak." 
From it the rain gods speak, 
Or, by their silence wreak {Note 6.) 
Misery around them. 

Here, Waihusivar 
Sights his dear home afar; 
"Middle Place,'' Shivinar, {Note 7.) 
Seen through his tears. 

Far down below he sees 
Rocky peak, sun baked leas. 
Dotted with pinon trees 
And the spiked yucca. 

Then, speaks the Eagle King, 
And the great canons ring 
As they the echo bring. 
Breaking the silence. 

19 



"Here must you prove your worth 
"Youth of a mortal birth; 
" Prove ye are free from earth, 
"Worthy my daughter." 

"You are as yet untried, 
" Not having hved or died ; 
" Win, first, thy longed for bride, — 
"Harsh tests enduring." 

"Dwell with us here and wait; 
" Soon comes the day of fate, 
" Surely no evil state, 
"Living among us?" 

Hardly the twain perceive 
Days come or take their leave; 
Working, they mould and weave. 
Lovers, together. 

Then come the Autumn rains; 
Gray ghosts rise from the plains. 
Wrapping the mountain chains 
In mist and thunder. 

"Now is thine hour, farewell; 
"Prove strong. Resist the spell 
"Evil will cast, and dwell 
"Ever among us." 

*Husiva obeys the King, 
Leaves the dear arms that cling, 
Mounts on his eagle wing. 
Following his leader. 

20 



One spot the flyers girth, 
Deep in a gloomy firth ; 
Now spring they to the earth, 
Young man and guardian. 

Headgear and wing they hide, 
Then, as they forward stride, 
Councils the ancient guide. 
Speaking a warning: 

''Good men are like this rock, 
" Steadfast they stand and mock 
"Windstorm and lightning shock, 
"Sure and determined." 

"Firm, wilt thou stand, oh, Youth, 
"Knowing thy bride's behoof 
"And thine depend on proof 
"Of thy strong nature?" 

"This is the lodge of sin, 
"Witches abide within, 
" Hoping by guile to win 
"Young men to evil." 

"Join not their wicked dance; 
"Should they thy soul entrance, 
"Lost is thine only chance 
"To win the maiden." 

Part II. — Scene 3rd. 

There, in the fitful light. 
In festive garments dight, 
Wavering to left or right, 
With the soft drum beats, 

21 



Dances a beauteous band; 
Joining now, hand to hand, 
Softly they beg I — command ! 
'Husivar to join them. 

Round him in rings they ghde ; 
One creeps close to his side; 
Weep now, lost Eagle bride, 
'Husivar is dancing! 

Faster they whirl around, 
Hardly they touch the ground; 
Louder the drum beats sound, 
Mad their gyrations. 

As coils the springle trap, 
Soft arms the youth enwrap; 
Prone, in the siren's lap 
'Husivar has fallen. 

Darkness and silence creep 
Up to the lodge, where sleep 
Buries the inmates deep, — 
Never to waken. 

Conclusion. 

Somnolent, loth to shake 
Sleep from his brow and wake. 
New day to undertake, 
'Husivar wavers. 

Bitter and deep regrets 
His stirring conscience frets, 
Mem'ries his penance whets. 
Picturing his lost one. 

22 



''Was it perhaps a dream? 
"Nightmares so hfe-Hke seem; 
''Gone with the night, I deem, 
"Visions of evil." 

Rising, he strives to gain 
Foothold, but strives in vain. 
Held by some awful ban 
Pressing upon him. 

A bony, fleshless hand, 
Grips like an iron band, 
While the deep desert sand 
Buries his body. 

Digging, with frenzied haste. 
Freeing his limbs and waist. 
In the deep sand encased, 
Wildly he labors. 

Now, through the erumbhng walls 
'Husivar, stooping, crawls 
Just as the ceiling falls 
Loudly behind him. 

Groping, with sightless eyes, 
Charnel forms he descries. 
Terror struck! Thence he flies. 
Followed by phantoms. 

Panting, he gains the spot, 
Where in the mould and rot. 
Like some ideal forgot, 
Lie his lost pinions. 

23 



Broken, unfit to use, 
Silently they accuse 
Him, who could not refuse 
Evil temptations. 

Following a beaten trail, 
With limbs that shake and fail, 
Pond'ring his sorry tale, 
Homeward he wanders. 

Reaches the ''Middle Place,'' 
But of his kin no trace 
Finds he. A stranger's face 
Answers his knocking. 

Learns he, in sore dismay, 
Fifty years passed away, 
As in a trance he lay. 
Listless, unknowing. 

Former sins to atone, 
Weary and old, — alone 
Scales he Mount Toyalone, 
Home of the Eagles. 

Here, as "Priest of the Bow," {Note 8.) 
Lives he, the shrine to show 
Tribemen who bring "baho" {Note 9.) 
Prayer-sticks as off'rings. 

Then, as he shows the spot, 
Where, in a time forgot. 
Eagles Uved,— tells the plot 
Of hii? sad story. 

24 



Asks, — "why the gods inspire 
"Mankind to Uve a higher 
"Life than they can acquire 
"With human natures." 

So, we, in our turn. 
Eager to know and learn, 
Would in this myth discern 
Its hidden meaning. 

THE EAGLE'S WING. 

The Eagle's Wing is based on a folk tale in Mr. Frank 
Hamilton Gushing 's collection, called "Zuni Folk 
Tales.'* 

The Indian village of Zuni (New Mexico), can be 
reached by carriage from Gallup ^ on the Santa Fe 
railroad. 

NOTES. 

Note 1. — The Zuni Indians live in pueblos. The 
houses m the ancient part of the village of Zuni are five 
stories high. In olden times these houses were seven 
stories high. 

Note 2. — In all Indian myths, man converses with 
the birds and animals. 

Note 3. — "There is a crow in the immediate neigh- 
borhood for every grain the Indian planted." The 
Indian "builds a commodious field shelter in which 
he passes many hours of the hot summer day," watch- 
ing his corn. "Indians of the Southwest," George A. 
Dorsey. 

25 



Note 4' — The transformation from animal or bird to 
human being is one of the characteristics of Indian 
myths. 

Note 5. — Kiakime, called ''home of the Eagles,*' was 
under Thunder Mountain. 

Note 6. — 'Toyalone/' or ''Thunder Mountain," is a 
lofty plateau, the home and shrine of the War God and 
the herald of Zuni." Dorsey. 

Note 7. — Shiwina was called "Middle Place," and is 
another name for the village of Zuni, under Thunder 
Mountain. 

Note 8. — On the summit of Toyalone is an interesting 
shrine dedicated to the "Priests of the Bow." "Indi- 
ans of the South West." Dorsey. 

Note 9. — Prayer sticks or "bahoes" are stuck in the 
ground around a shrine or sacred spring. 



WHERE, OH WHERE AM I? 



If I sit on the beach 
And send my soul to sea, — 
Which "I" would you call "me," 

The one upon the shore 
Or that which sails the sea? 

If trodden paths I keep, 
Where all is pure and clean, 
With thoughts that wander mean 

And weedy wastes, — you'd name 
The "I," my thoughts, I wean? 

If, on the earth I stand 
And send my soul to fly 

Beyond man's sordid hfe 
To God's unclouded sky, — 
Oh! where, oh! where am "I"? 



27 



PUT FORTH THY STRENGTH AND GROW. 



If thou art planned, like a noble forest tree, 

To overlook the world and see it as 

A whole, — obey thy soul, oh, man, and grow, 

And ever grow! till thine uphfted arms 

Appear to those below to touch the skj^ ! 

If thou art planted in a soil unfriendly, 

So thou art warped and stunted in thy growth; 

Still mayest thou give thy soul to blossoming, 

And bring new beauty to a lowly place. 

Naught will excuse thee. Put forth thy strength and 

grow! 
Thy Maker knows no state as high or low, 
But holds his children all of worth in His 
Great plan. Oh! man, know that thou art here 
To teach a lesson or to live a truth! "^ 



FAR AND NEAR. 



You say if truth were far as yonder star. 
You'd know and sing for joy? 
Ah! dear, it was so near it whispered in 
Your ear. You did not hear. 



28 



MID-SUMMER. 



Rouse ye, and work this summer iioon. 

Give o'er this senseless rest! 
For all the world, in ardent June, 

Must bloom and bear its best. 

Now, to the close and fervent air 

The sweetest perfume rlings. 
While full blown roses pile lush fare 

Upon the worker's wings. 

The ripened fruit falls from the bough 

And heav>^ hangs the wheat. 
Thy song is ready? Sing it now! 

Wliile glows thy summer's heat. 

Thy strength hath reached its manhood's prime, 

Thy heart for labor's steeled? 
Then find thy task! for it is time 

Thy ''promise" turns to "yield," 



A WOOD CHARM. 



There are no secrets on the plain for me, 
The mountains s]^ak not, — cold infinity I 
But in a wood; the crowd of whispering trees 
Hint to my soul of hidden mysteries. 



29 



MY WILDERNESS. 



I come upon a spot so sweetly wild, 
I know no step but mine has wandered here; 

No eye but mine has seen its beauties mild, 

Such wealth of sj^rawling vine and flowers rare 
Choke up the way, — I pause before I dare 

Break through, in fancy, to my sheltered nook. 
So, if you follow, pray, my friend, take care 

Bruise not the tangled vines nor stir the brook 

So calm and clear ; Nor to covert on these flowers look. 

Show you to me a spot that man has sown 

Which yields such wealth of charms as here we see. 

Where has such lovely purple iris grown 
As this dark gipsy, tall and wild and free, 
Living beneath the wide sky canopy? 

Where does the puny lily glow like this 

With health? A crimson mountain charm is^she. 

The fruit of Nature's mingled tear and kiss, 

Then, tell me, friend, grow men such lovely blooms 
as this? 

It is the fleeting columbine you smell, 

Look on her well ere she takes her fairy grace 

Away. — Where man is near she will not dwell, 
But seeks a higher and a wilder space 
Where only winds find out her hiding place. 

Yea bud and moss and vine within this bower 
Know but their own sweet will 1 Here can you trace 

No hand but His, who sends the cooling shower, 

And sun and wind and dew to every lowly flower. 

30 



We needs must own, men's gardens, too, are fair, 
But ever present is man's rule and sway, 

The gaudy blooms bespeak too much of care, 
And each insurgent branch is loppod away I 
I wonder what the captive flowers say 

To bird or butterfly or gossip bee, 

Who message brings from kinfolk far away. 

Perhaps they pine and weep, "Ah. pity me. 

And take these sleeping seeds and set my children 
free." 

Oh, friend, thy soul is hke this mountain land, 

A virgin forest, wild and rough and free. 
Not pruned and warped to suit the world's demand, 

ITntrimmed, unchanged, unspoilt as God made thee. 

Thy overgrowth of soul is prophecy 
Of tender blooms, which modest seek the shade 

And give in simple spontaneity^ 
A rare perfume and blossom, which persuade 
To free and natural ways, unfettered, unafraid. 



A SIREN BY THE SEA. 



Once I was young and dashed, hke the scolding surf, 

In futile rage against the shore that marked 

My boundary. But I am changed into 

The distant sea, whose glassy calm hides dark 

And dangerous depths where men ship-wreck their lives. 



THE RIVER. 



I am spending myself like a river 

That fills each thirst}^ ditch, 
Till it bubbles o'er with my largess 

And makes a desert rich. 

I seek new lands in the distance, 

I may not pause nor stay; 
I spill my strength and my beauty, 

My restlessness to allay. 

Ah! instead of a turbulent river, 

I'd be a mountain lake, 
So sound asleep in the shadows 

That nothing my slumbers could break. 

-\nd the sun would lo^^e me and warm me, 
And o'er me the soft clouds would brood; 

Why am I not calm, languid water, 
With its dim, reflected mood? 

Why must I rush on towards the ocean. 
Towards the great and the unknown sea? 

Shall I find peace forever 
When its waters cover me? 

No rest for a soul hke a river! 

I fear I shall ever be 
An unchanged hurrying river 

Even in Eternal Sea. 



32 



ROMANCE. 



Ah, misty path adown the lane, 

I follow you to youth again, 
To hear the echo call anew, 
In mocking voice, "pursue! pursue!" 

And luring on from tree to tree! 

Romance peeps out and beckons me! 

What profits it that I may hear 

The country's wealth from some compeer? 

I care not for the yield of corn 

Upon a golden summer morn, 
For slipping now from tree to tree, 
Romance peeps out and beckons me 

To follow down the dewy lane, 

And feel the thrill of youth again! 

I search where mystery seems to pass 
Unseen among the waving grass; 
I seek, along the shady stream, 
A shadow from some mid-day dream; 
For Romance calls all day on me, 
And lures me on from tree to tree. 
And I am young and free again. 
Unscathed by time or life or pain. 

And when my cronies sip their ale, 
And tell again some time-worn tale 

Within the dim-ht tavern room, 

I look for peace into the gloom 
Outside, — and once more I feel 
The spell of the unknown, unreal. 

For there, beneath that swaying tree, 

Romance entreats and beckons me 
To follow down the moon-lit lane 
In search of youth and love again. 



THE WILLOWS. 



How like to life's monotony, 
The humming song of that busy bee I 
I hate its rasping, ceaseless call 
To work, ere evening shadows fall. 
Here, supine, in the restful grass, 
I'd dream awhile, as the hours pass; 
But that bee, that busy, busthng bee. 
Rebukes my dormant energy. 
Perforce I I leave my nod and dream 
For the quiet of a near-by stream; 
''My sisters," the bending willow doles, 
"Have checkered shades for lightsome souls, 
"And in their glimmering, white and gray, 
"Oft laughs the heart of the careless gay. 
" In my umbrageous, sheltered deep, 
"The constant breath is lulled to sleep; 
"Faintest mutterings I muffle 
"In my skirted limbs. No sound shall ruffle 
"This stiU and dreamless solitude. 
"Come, wisely, wearied child of toil. 
"Find here an end to life-long moil, 
" Close thine eyes at this water's brink, 
"My roots are weighted with those who sink; 
"One slip from this dank, moss-grown rock, 
"One noisy splash! infringing shock, 
"Then, the hush o'er flood and tree, 
" Shall reknit its edges over thee." 

I pause at the edge of this murky stream 

To gaze back where the golden sunlight's gleam 
Gladens fields of grain and clover. 
And hark I again that cheerful rover 

Singing of hfe and work to me ; 

Bless thy call, oh, sturdy bee I 

34 



DIVINE JUSTICE-A PRAYER, 



When, in my hour of need, let me not plead, 
Oh I Lord for that denied my brother man, 
Of health or hfe. Why should'st Thou hear my cry, 
And turn deaf ear when he beside me pleads? 
Why should not I as he give place? 'Tis just 
Thou deal according to nature's plan with me 
And mine. Let me not fail to see Thy way 
Is best ; divinely just to every man. 



MUSIC AND MEMORY. 



My Past hes dead, Eurydice, 

Dead and as cold as thou. 

And the hope that had comforted me 

Droops like the wreath on thy brow ; 

Now, the wind steals in like a mourner. 

Sighing, creeps in alone. 

And lifting the pall at the corner. 

Shrieks o'er the corpse on the stone. 

He plays memory's harp in the stillness. 

Plays a forgotten strain. 

And my Past awakes from its chillness, 

Eurydi(;e lives again! 

Oh, Wind, why need you languish? 

This is a pang too sharp, 

To watch my Past in anguish 

Fade with thy breath on the harp. 

35 



LITTLE WILD BIRD. 



Ah! little v/ild bird, wild thought! 
You piped so beautifully 
When you were safe and free ; 
But now that you are caught, 
You sing with such constrain, 
I'll give you freedom again. 
Now, sing with all your might, 
Till, on your upward flight 
You are lost in space and night. 



36 



i^^V 26 i9IG 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



